Lies My Parents Told Me
by Phoenix.G.Fawkes
Summary: Part of the ‘Unwell’ series. Percy and Wesley must face their worst fear: their own parents. XOver with Atvs.
1. Chapter One: Part One of Five

**Disclaimer:** JK, Joss Whedon, WB, ME, etc.

**Summary:** Part of the 'Unwell' series. Percy and Wesley must face their worst fear: their own parents.

_Special thanks to everyone who reviewed my fics, especially to Muses9 (you don't have to wait anymore, here it is!) and Mikhyel (definately NOT a threesome, sorry, but I don't write those). I hope you like this new installment of the series._

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**Lies My Parents Told Me**

**Chapter One:**

'GET DOWN!'

Faith didn't need to say it twice: Percy ducked behind a table, and he saw the Slayers-in-training doing the same.

A whistle was heard, and the axe crossed the air, chopping off one of the vampires' heads at once. That caught their attention: They turned to face Faith, stunned looks on their faces.

The dark Slayer gave them a sly smile:

'Are we ready to negotiate now?'

The vampires exchanged dark glances, then turned to face her again, this time showing their demoniac visage. Faith shrugged.

'Guessed so' She pulled out a stake. 'Girls, let's kick some demon ass'.

The girls jumped on their feet and pulled out their stakes as if they were one. Brave resolve shone on their faces, in spite of being outnumbered two to one. The vampires, aware of this fact, had smug looks in their eyes. Percy looked at Faith and her team, then he looked at the demons again. Poor devils.

As the battle took place around him, Percy crept out from his hidey-hole. He had a different mission to accomplish.

He crept on his stomach all the way to the opposite side of the room, trying to move as close to the wall as possible, and avoiding both vampires and slayers. He got to his destination and rose slowly to his feet, hoping none of the demons would notice his movements. He gave a quick glance at the iron door in front of him, and grabbed the knob. Before anyone noticed what he was doing, he opened it and slid inside.

He found himself in a smaller, darker room, and almost at once his nostrils were filled with dust. Repressing the urge to sneeze, he tried to adapt his eyes to the surrounding blackness, as he took tentative steps towards the centre of the room.

As soon as his eyes managed to see again (doing the Lumus spell would only help to give away his position), he distinguished a table. He walked towards it and saw a piece of parchment on it. This time he did risk using the Lumus spell to check whether this parchment was the one he was looking for.

He smiled in the dark when he saw a list of many of the vampires and demons that had allied with the Dark Lord, and it also showed magically how to reach the places they used to meet with the Death Eaters. This was worth all the trouble they had gone through to find out its location.

But first, he had to take care of a few things. He proceeded to cast a series of spells on the parchment, to see whether it was magically protected or whether it had an anti-burglars curse. He was glad he'd read all those books about curse-breaking of Bill.

To his surprise, the list wasn't protected. Then he remembered that vampires usually weren't very fond of magic, and that apart from their supernatural abilities they didn't have one single drop of magic blood in their veins. Hell, even a house-elf would beat them at a magic contest.

He stretched out a hand to take it, when he heard a hiss right behind him:

'Not so fast, fella'.

Before Percy could react, he felt the full impact of a powerful fist against his ribs, and he fell to the ground, gasping for air. Laughter rang in his ears, as Percy tried to catch his breath and get a grip on his wand.

'Look at this, boys! We got a _witch_ here!'

_A **witch**,_ Percy thought. _Are you bloody blind?_ While the vampire kept laughing at him, and to this point at least two other vampires were laughing with him, Percy rolled over and pointed his wand at him.

'_Incendio!_' he shouted, and the vampire was set on fire. Shocked, the vampire saw how the orange flames were turning his body into ashes, until there was nothing left.

'What the sodding hell...?'

Percy realised that in this case darkness would only benefit them, so he shouted:

'_Lumus Maxima!_'

At once, the room was filled with a bright white light, which dazzled the vampires for a moment. Percy turned the table over, to use it as a shield, as he threw curses to the nearest vampire.

The problem was that vampires, like giants, were immune to many spells and hexes, so most of his attempts were futile. Finally he managed to slow down the vampire long enough to throw at him another fire spell.

He inhaled, relaxed, until he felt how a tight grip closed around his neck and made him to turn round. Too late he remembered there still was one vampire left.

'So, whaddaya gonna do now, _witch_? Seems to me you can't pronounce more spells'

And he was bloody well right. As the vampire's grip tightened around his neck, Percy felt how oxygen was abandoning his lungs. He tried to whisper something, anything, but the grip was too tight and his trachea refused to cooperate. His left hand grabbed the vampire's in a futile attempt to force it to release him, but all he managed was to scratch his skin with his nails.

He could heard the vampire's laughter, but it sounded very distant, and horrified he realised he was slipping into unconciousness. His sight was fading, and his brain was quite dizzy.

_C'mon, Percy. You can't die like this..._

He began to swirl his arms helplessly...and then, in a sudden, he realised that the vampire hadn't taken away his most powerful weapon.

With a brisk move of his right hand, he crossed the vampire's chest with his wand...and crashed into the ground when it turned into ashes.

He stayed curled in the floor for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to recover all the lost oxygen. Relieved, he felt how the air returned painfully to his lungs and the blood pounded its way back to his brain.

_How come no one taught me that in Defense Against Dark Arts?_, Percy thought as he got on his feet again, still gasping for air. He would have liked to lie still for a few more minutes, but he was running out of time. He hastened to summon the parchment, and after casting a protecting charm on it he put it in his inner pocket.

As soon as he did so, the door swung open and Percy turned round, ready to face an army of vampires...but it was just Faith and the girls.

They were covered in dirt and vampire's dust, not to mention the minnor cuts and injuries some of them showed, but on the whole they looked fine. Actually, they looked exhilarated. Percy shook his head. He'd never get the exciting thing about fighting vampires. He, for instance, all wanted to do right now was to curl up in his bed. Instead, he'd have to report to Wesley and take care of some of the slayers' injuries.

How fun.

Wesley stared dully at the envelope on his desk. He'd recognized the flourished handwriting at once and as for the address on it, he'd lived in there long enough to remember it by heart.

He'd received it half an hour ago... but hadn't put up the courage to open it yet. _Come on, Pryce. There won't be a bomb in it._

Finally, he ripped the envelope open, letting two sheets of paper to fall. He grabbed them, and was shocked to find his hands barely shaking. Annoyed with himself, he tried to calm down before reading its contents.

His eyes widened as his gaze scanned through the sheets of paper, and when he finished reading the letter he was utterly surprised. He couldn't ponder on the contents of the letter for long, though: his office's door swung open and Faith came in.

'Mission accomplished, partner'.

She carelessly dropped the precious parchment on desk, sank onto the chair and put her feet on the desk.

Wesley put aside his own problems and began questioning about the mission, and Faith, for once, obliged. When she finished her report and was ready to leave, she added:

'Oh, Giles's looking for ya. Seems like a couple of those mojo weirdos came'.

Wesley refrained the urge to roll his eyes.

'Faith, they aren't weirdos, they are just like Percy and Oliver' At this words, Faith shrugged.

'Whatever. You not gonna give 'em our list, are ya?'

'No, just a copy'.

Faith nodded, satisfied, and walked out. Wesley closed his eyes for a second and rubbed his forehead. He'd completely forgotten about the visit of the two members of the Order of the Phoenix that were supposed to come that day.

He rose from his chair grabbing the parchment, and hurried to leave the office. The letter, and its contents, were temporary forgotten on his desktop.

Back at the headquarters, Percy was taking care of a large, nasty looking cut that crossed Vi's left arm, while Andrew demanded for details of the mission. When Percy told what he'd done to the two vampires, both of them gasped.

'Whoa, Percy! That wasn't bad at all' Vi said. 'You know, for not having super powers and all...'

Percy's lips curved in an amused smile.

'Vi, I do have super powers. They're different from yours, that's all'.

Andrew's amazement was much more evident.

'Three vamps all at once! Percy, that's fantastic!'

Percy felt himself blushing.

'Really, it wasn't that great...'

'Oh, yes, it was!' Andrew looked at him in awe. 'Now you're all a Blade...'

Both Vi and Percy blinked, and the latter was glad that he hadn't been the only one who hadn't got Andrew's reference. The blonde man waved his hand impatiently.

'Demon hunter. Anyway, Percy, that's amazing. They could have snapped you in two, you know'.

Without realising it, Percy touched the spot were the vampire had tried to strangle him. _Really, Andrew? I wouln't have noticed._

'Ouch, Percy, careful with that! It hurts, you know'.

The wizard stopped pouring Healing Potion on Vi's cut and stared at her. 'You know, no one would say you've faced an Apocalypsys from the way you're whimpering now' he teased. She gave him a playful punch with her sane arm.

'I'm not whimpering!'

'Whinning, then'.

'I'm not!'

Percy laughed softly, and then his gaze met Andrew's. He was staring at them with a slight frown on his face. Percy suddenly remembered all the nonsense Oliver had been saying the previous day, about Vi having a crush on him. Oh, great. Now Andrew would start with that too.

His friend, however, opted to change the subject.

'So, how did the rehearsal go?'

It took Percy a moment to reaslise what he was talking about.

'Oh, it was great, really. We might play in a club next Saturday'.

The previous night Percy had had his first rehearsal with Naoise Donnovan's band, "Leprechaun's Gold" (hey, he hadn't came up with the name). There Percy had met the other members of the band: Riley, the singer, Laoise, Naoise's younger sister (definately their parents had a weird sense of humor), who played the harp, and a bloke called Black Eye from some unknown reason, who was the drummer. Naoise was the bass player.

After he'd played, the other members of the band had been glad to accept him in. It seemed that their last guitar player had been a disaster.

'But with you, we might play in a real club this time', Riley had said, while Laoise nodded heartily behind him. Percy's ears had turned red, but soon he'd felt at ease as he started playing with the band. They performed _covers_ of old songs of the seventies and the eighties, so Percy didn't feel like a fish out of water when he admitted he liked The Hobgoblins.

_That'll show you, Oliver Wood!_, he'd thought as he talked with Riley about The Hobgoblins' latest record...which was at least sixteen years old. Later on Laoise and Naoise had joined the conversation. Somewhat to his disappointment, Naoise wasn't a huge fan of the Hobgoblins. She said she preferred The Alchemist's, which was a band of the eighties Percy had never liked that much. Too bad.

On the other hand, Black Eye didn't seem to be very talkative. He'd barely spoken ten words in Percy's pressence.

'Don't worry', Laoise had told him. 'He's always like that'.

On the whole, he considered the rehearsal had gone quite well. The band members had seemed nice enough and, who knew, they might be in the radio some day.

In a bizarre, alternate universe, of course.

Ten minutes later, Vi had reunited with her fellow slayers, while Andrew had begun a tedious translation. Percy, on the other hand, had just noticed they had no Healing Potion left. He'd have to go to Wesley's office to pick up the ingredients and prepare some more.

When he walked down the stairs, he saw Wesley and Giles talking to some people in front of his office, but he couldn't see their faces. He waited a moment, unsure of what to do, but Giles, who'd noticed his pressence, approached him.

'Percy, there you are' he said. Puzzled, Percy looked at him, wondering what Giles might need from him. 'Look, these two people are from the Order of the Phoenix and they've came here to lend us a hand...'

Percy winced. The Order of the Phoenix? Ok, he was aware that Giles knew Dumbledore and all, and that in a couple of times Hogwarts' headmaster had helped them, but he certainly wasn't expecting this. Especially when he saw who they were.

'Nice to see you again, Percy'.

He stared in disbelief at the brown-haired man with shabby clothes.

'Professor Lupin?'

But that wasn't all. Because standing right next to Professor Lupin, there was a wizard Percy knew all too well. A wizard who was staring at him with even more disbelief than Percy was. Then he managed to compose and a forced smile curved his lips.

'Hello, son. It's been a while'.


	2. Chapter Two Part Two of Five

Thanks a lot to **Muses9**, **Mikhyel**, **db** and **asuki-anani** for your reviews, they always encorauge me to write. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last one.

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**Chapter Two:** (Part Two of Five) 

'_I don't think that I could take another empty moment_

_I don't think that I could fake another hollow smile_

_Well, it's not enough just to be lonely_

_I don't think that I could take another talk about it'_

'_**Bed of Lies'**, by Matchbox 20._

Percy's hands were shaking. He could notice because of the way all the ingredients kept falling from his hands.

Wesley's quiet voice called from behind him.

'Percy, why don't you sit down? I can hand the ingredients to you'.

Blushing, and feeling terribly embarassed, Percy did as he was told and sank into the nearest chair. Wesley went to the cupboard and grabbed the ingredients at once, then he placed them on the table and took a seat across the desk. He stared at Percy for a moment, then he leaned forward, his hands twisted on his lap.

'Percy, are you all right?'

He straightened at once and forced an smile. 'Sure, Wes. Why wouldn't I be?'

Wesley raised an eyebrow. 'Well, my mistake then. It's just that I've always thought that shaking was a sign of distress, but now I see I was wrong'.

The slight sarcasm of his voice wasn't lost on Percy.

'Sorry. It's just...well...'

'You weren't expecting your father, were you?'

Percy's jaw fell open. 'How...how did you...?'

Wesley shrugged. 'The look on your face when you saw him pretty much gave it away' He sighed. 'Sorry about that, but I didn't know it was your father who'd come...'

'It-it's okay' Percy blurted out. 'It's just... My father and I haven't talked in a while'.

Wesley nodded. 'I know what that's like'

Percy noticed that Wes' hands were no longer twisted on his lap; instead, he'd grabbed an envelope that was on the desktop and was absently twiddling with it.

None of them spoke for a couple of minutes. Percy wanted to stand up and leave, but he felt glued to the chair. Wesley, on the other hand, seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

'It's funny, isn't it?'

Percy winced at Wesley's soft whisper. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He felt clueless.

'I mean' Wesley continued, his gaze lost somewhere else 'You tell yourself that you no longer care, that they can no longer affect you...and when you're last expecting it... it gets to you again. No matter how hard you try...you can never run away from it'.

Percy frowned. Now he did feel clueless.

'What are you talking about, Wes?'

For the first time, Wesley looked at him straight in the eye.

'Family. Isn't about it always?'

* * *

When Percy arrived home, he was still dwelling in what Wesley had said. The man was so reticent about his past or his family that it was a real surprise hearing him say those things. He wasn't the only one, though. From what he'd heard and seen in the last few months, most of his co-workers preferred not to talk about their pasts or families. Maybe that had been the reason he'd belonged with them.

Andrew had once commented that one thing they all had in common – Wesley, Faith, Wood (Robin) and some others Percy did not know – was the "dysfunctionality" of their families. 'It's almost funny', he'd said, 'how all of us were stuck with not-so-nice parents or lost the only good relatives we got at a young age'.

Both Oliver and Percy had fallen silent for more than one reason. For one thing, they'd noticed Andrew had stopped talking about the rest to start talking about himself. Even though Andrew liked to talk about himself, both of them had noticed they knew very little about his family. Andrew had commented he had an older brother that lived in Chicago with his girlfriend, but he had never mentioned any of his parents, or talked about his childhood in Sunnydale. Now finally they'd got a glimpse of the reason he hadn't done so.

But there were other reasons as well. Oliver fell silent because he couldn't identify with Andrew for a very simple reason: he'd never had any trouble with his family. Sure, they'd never understood his obsession with Quidditch, and once he'd commented to Percy and Andrew the suspicions he had as a child that his mother liked her plants better than him, or that his father got mad at Oliver's low grades, but those were little things and, on the whole, his parents had always been supportive. They hadn't always understood him, but they had always been there for him. And that seemed to be much more than Andrew had ever had.

And Percy...well, his story didn't differ from Oliver's, except for one little detail: he wasn't on speaking terms with his family. But in his case, it wasn't because his parents had been uncaring or hurtful. He had managed to do all the hurtful part by himself.

He was so absorbed in his own thoughts, that he bumped into Andrew, who was covered from head to foot in flour. Percy blinked.

'Cooking again?'

Andrew shrugged, trying to shake off the flour from his dark shirt. 'You're lucky that I can cook. If we only depended on you or Oliver...'

He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Both of them were very aware of Percy's and Oliver's lack of cooking skills. They were lucky indeed to have Andrew, who cooked rather well by the way.

'Percy, are you ok?' He asked, because his friend had sunk into his armchair with a deflated look.

He shrugged. 'I'm not sure' He took a breath. 'I saw my dad today'.

Andrew nodded. He knew more or less what had happened between Percy and his family – there had been many things he hadn't understood because of his muggle upbringing, but he'd got the general idea – so he could guess how his friend was feeling at the moment.

'Percy, you know that if you need to talk or something...'

Percy looked at his friend's concerned face and nodded. 'Thanks, Andrew. But I think I'd rather be alone right now, if you don't mind'.

Andrew, being uncharacteristically tactful, said nothing and headed towards the small kitchen. When he was halfway there, though, he suddenly turned round and said:

'Percy, before I forget: you got a letter. It's on the white table'.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Percy rose to his feet as Andrew went to check the oven. When he grabbed the envelope, he realised it wasn't made of common paper, but old parachment. His mouth went dry. He slowly turned the envelope, and when he saw the hadnwriting, his heart sank.

He stood still for a few second, unable to move, unable to have one coherent thought. He realised he was panting, but he could do nothing to stop it.

He hadn't seen that hadnwriting in such a long while. More than a year, actually. Since he'd walked away from his family and all the terrible things he'd said...

He took a sharp intake of breath, and rushed to open the envelope, nearly tearing it apart. His eyes travelled through the piece of parachment. There wasn't much to see.

_Your mother wants to see you. Tomorrow she'll be at the Leaky Cauldron at noon._

There was no formal or informal addressing, no signature, but they weren't necessary. There was no way he could not recognize that hurried handwriting.

Percy took a long, deep breath.

Maybe he should listen to Wesley and take one or two days off work.

* * *

On a bright Saturday morning – completely uncharacteristic of the time of the year – Wesley was driving his car along a way too familiar road. He'd taken this road hundreds of times before – but things had been very different back then. Which once had felt familiar and natural, now felt foreign and out of place.

What was he doing here, after all? Why had he gone there at all?

Was he seeking the approval he'd never got? Did he want to see that damned place once more? Did he want to see any of those people again? Was he trying to find out how much things had changed since then? Or not? Was he trying to prove something? If it was so, what was he trying to prove?

Wesley hadn't the answers for any of those questions. All he knew was that he'd told Faith and Giles he'd take one day off because he had some personal business to take care of, and the next day he'd got into his car and began driving automatically. The reason – or reasons – he was doing this were unknown to him. Perhaps that was why he was doing this – to find out the reason. He shook his head. That didn't make sense at all. And, in a bizarre way, it did.

As he reached his destination and parked, turning off the stereo and making Cat Stevens' voice to fade away – _Father and Son_, how appropriate – he took a long, critical look at the place before his eyes.

The garden seemed smaller and little more unkept than the last time he'd seen it; the roof had some gables missing and the walls need another layer of paint in some parts.

Or perhaps it hadn't changed at all and it was just his imagination. He had been so much younger – if not in years, in wisdom – the last time he'd been there, so much naïver, that everything had looked larger and more flawless back then. Now, though, he was capable to see all the little things out of place, all the tiny imperfections.

Or maybe the place had really changed. Something that once he'd thought impossible. He'd imagined this place would remain unaltered for eternity, that the implacable winds of change would never affect it. Like in many other matters, he'd been wrong.

He got out the car, shut the door close and set the alarm. Then he started to walk towards the house. He felt like he was in a dream: he was walking very slowly, too slowly, but he couldn't neither speed up his pace or stop on his tracks. He just kept moving, the bright light hurting his eyes, as if the building were attracting him like a powerful magnet.

He finally reached the oak front door, and somehow managed to raise his hand and knock faintly. Then, ashamed at his own weakness, he raised his hand again and knocked harder.

Before he could change his mind, turn round and get the hell away from there, the door was gently opened, and in the frame appeared a figure he recognized at once.

'Maggie?', he whispered, somewhat astounded. He had almost forgotten how regal and imposing the old housekeeper looked like.

She was a tall, square-shouldered woman, whose face seemed to be made of stone. All the lines in her figure were painfully rect, as if she'd been drawn with a ruler. Or that way she'd been when he was a kid. Now, however, he noticed her belly was rounder than he remember, and her face was plumper. Her grey hair had turned almost completely white, and her skin was as wrinkled as old parchment.

However, the way her eyes widened and sparkled when she saw him was exactly how he remembered it, and also was her voice:

'Wes! It's been so long!' She exclaimed, grabbing his arm and dragging him in unceremoniously. It had used to annoy him to no end as a teenager when she treated him with so little respect, but now he felt so numb that he did not mind.

'You should have came to visit sooner than this' She said reproachfully. 'I was so upset when Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce told me you'd been in England for _months_ and you hadn't told us a word! After all this time!'

Maggie didn't wait for his reply, and continued talking about how changed he looked, and that he was more handsome if possibly, and about what a shame was he hadn't married yet, she wanted so badly to see his children born...

Wesley's mind drifted away from Maggie's unstoppable chatter, and instead studied his surroundings.

There had been a few changes in the furniture, and the curtains' colour had been different, but on the whole the hall looked exactly as he remembered. Well, that wasn't completely true. It looked much brighter, bathed in the sunlight that came through the large windows on the front. It was strange, but he didn't remember the house to be so illuminated. For some reason, his memories of the place were all gloomy and dark, as if he'd seen not a single ray of light in his entire childhood. In a way, he hadn't.

Maggie was dragging him to the living room, where he guessed his parents were waiting for him. He noticed that the housekeeper's voice lowered as they got closer to their destination until it became a soft whisper, and the grip on his arm disappeared. Maggie could treat him like a five-year-old child when they were alone, but when she was in front of his parents (especially his father) her movements stiffened and she treated him almost with deference. She didn't call him 'Wes' or 'Little One', but 'Mr. Wesley', which to him sounded even more ridiculous. He hoped she wouldn't do that again, or he would burst in laughter.

They stopped in front of the living room's door, and for a second Wesley was tempted to stop her from turning the knob. He didn't, though.

In complete silence, the housekeeper opened the door, and they both stepped into a room that was much darker (both literally and metaphorically) than the hall. The two people in there looked up, and Maggie opened her mouth to announce his presence, but he took a step forward and said, in a cold, dettached voice:

'Good Morning, Mother, Father. I've received your invitation'.

At once, Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce rose to her feet gracefully and walked towards him. There were more lines around her blue eyes, and the white in her hair was finally beating the chestnut, but she still looked beatiful – and strangely happy to see him.

She didn't hug him – she hadn't done so since he was eight – but she placed a kiss on his cheek.

'Wesley, thank you so much for coming', she said sincerely. In spite of himself, he smiled at her words.

But of course, one could always count on Roger Wyndam-Pryce to ruin a remotely sentimental moment.

'What are you thanking him for, Ellen? We nearly had to bring him here by force'.

_Thank you, Dad. I see you've missed me._

Wesley repressed a sigh. This was going to be a very long morning.

Percy entered the Leaky Cauldron, feeling his innards squirming. He took a couple of deep breaths to compose, after that his heart stopped pounding frantically in his chest...or at least it slowed down a bit.

His gaze scanned the inn. At once, he noticed the place was packed with people, all carrying shopping bags, all chattering loudly. No one there seemed to have come alone. He walked between the tables, trying to get a glimpse of flaming red hair or any signs of his mother.

Finally, he saw her. She was sitting all by herself at a small table in a corner, her face buried in her hands. Percy was shocked to see how much thinner and older she looked, there were white strands on her hair that hadn't been there before. And that wasn't all: now there were a few thin, white scars crossing her hands and arms. _Mum, what's happened to you?_

He glimpsed something else, something that didn't make him to feel better. On his mother's lap, there was a pile of grey wool...a jumper. A Weasley handmade jumper. _The_ jumper, which he'd returned unceremoniously last Christmas. His heart sank as a pang of guilt stabbed his chest.

It took him every bit of strength left in him to sort the other tables to reach her. He finally was by her side. He hesitated a second, then he gently touched her shoulder.

She winced and looked up. He noticed at once that her eyes were teary and reddish, that there were much more lines circling them and that she was so pale that most of the freckles were gone. Her eyes widened.

'Percy, _my_ Percy? Is it really you?'

At the sound of her cracked voice and the look of infinite sadness in her eyes, Percy felt how his heart broke in a thousand pieces.

'_If shame had a face I think it would kind of look like mine,_

_If it had a home would it be my eyes'._

_**Sick Cycle Carrousel**, by Lifehouse._


	3. Chaper Three: Part Three of Five

_Here it is, the third chapter (the longest so far), in which Wesley 'enjoys' some bonding time with his parents and Percy faces his mother. Hope you like it._

**Mikhyel**: You can keep on singing, as here it is the following chapter! I hope you like this one as well.

**JMM**: It's true that Percy might be too hard on himself, and it's also true that what happened between him and his family can't be entirely his fault. However, there's never been any sign of Mr and Mrs Weasley being hurtful to him (at least from what JK has said so far) or at least not hurtful enough to provoke Percy's mean attitude (that, of course, if we can completely trust in Ron's retelling of what he said). His brothers are other story, though. Keep reading: the Weasleys might give you a surprise.

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**Chapter Three:**

'_How can I try to explain_

_When I do he turns away again_

_It's always been the same_

_Same old story;_

_From the moment I could talk_

_I was ordered to listen_

_Now there's a way and I know_

_That I have to go away_

_I know I have to go'_

'_**Father and Son'**, by Cat Stevens_

Lunch, Wesley was certain, was going to end up in disaster. How could he tell? Easy. His father had been silent for the most part of the morning, letting his wife to take care of the conversation, and the rest of it he'd made polite comments. Extremely polite comments.

In any other person, such behaviour would have showed an attempt to be civil. Wesley knew his father too well to fall for that.

His father was like a tiger waiting for the right moment to attack, his politeness was only a way to distract him and catch him out of guard. Wesley remembered the politeness his father had used to force him to get locked under the stairs for hours, the sarcastically poilite tone he always used to humiliate him in front of other people, the mockingly courteous way he'd told him once and again that he was a failure... Definately Wesley had had enough of his father's politeness by now.

They were having lunch in the drawing room, a large and rather somber room, with heavy curtains blocking the sunlight and casting long shadows upon them. They were sitting at a long, wooden table made at least for twelve people, when they were only three. Wesley couldn't see any logic in this. Before, they had always had meals at a smaller room next to the kitchen, where there was a table for four. The drawing room had only been used for guests and people who didn't belong to the family. Wesley wondered whether his parents were trying to honor him or to tell him he no longer was a part of the family.

The conversation was led mostly by his mother. She seemed very curious about Los Angeles, and particularly Hollywood (when she'd been young, she'd adored Judy Garland's movies). But as Wesley couldn't tell her many things about LA that didn't relate to demons or Apocalypsys (except for some stories from the time he'd dated Virginia) soon they worn out the subject. However, that wasn't a problem for his mother, who began telling stories about the university where she worked as a (predictably) History teacher. Now he came to think of it, his mother's love for History had been the reason his parents had first met: in a library, both of them looking for the same old volume of prophecies. Of course, Ellen Reynolds, the daughter of a pragmatic military officer killed when she was fifteen, hadn't believed that any of the prophecies could be true. She'd been just curious about the nonsense people used to believe in ancient times and was writing a thesis about it. Roger Wyndam-Pryce, on the other hand, was on one of his first assigments for the Council, and at first he hadn't been exactly thrilled when he'd found out that some girl had taken the precious book away from him. That until he saw the girl in question. Wesley doubted it had been love at first sight (he could hardly see any of his parents, especially his father, being possessed by a fierce, unrational emotion) but somehow they'd started dating...and the rest of the story was pretty obvious.

Wesley listened to his mother, an attentive look on his face, and every now and then he asked something or made an appropriate comment, altough she didn't need any encouragement to keep talking. She cheerfully told them about her students, her plans for her lessons, and also bits of gossip about some of the colleagues they knew.

'Professor Hannigan's daughter-in-law is pregnant. You don't have an idea of how happy she is to be a grandmother' She cast him a calculating look. 'I wouldn't mind to be a grandmother, you know'.

Horrified, Wesley realised that the next question would be about his sentimental status (which it was so not the subject he'd have liked to discuss with his parents) and his horror did nothing but increase when he remembered how much she loved to play matchmaker. With a shudder, he remembered when she'd set him up with an insipid girl, who was one of her friends' daughters. He _so_ did not want to think about it now. Thankfully, it was probable that most of her friends' daughters were already married... or divorced. He begged the latter wasn't the case.

To his surprise, his father looked up, apparently interested in the subject. 'I'd like a grandson, too'.

This was getting definately eerie. Soon it would be plainly scary.

'I can't say I'm planning to have a child anytime soon', he stated, hoping this would stop the conversation. His mother looked somewhat disappointed, but hastened to add:

'Well, nowadays people have children at an older age than they used too, it's very common. And I guess that you don't have much time for socializing with your line of work'.

Until then, his mother had carefully avoided the subject of his job. Probably to prevent her husband to ask awkward questions or make snide comments... but now it was too late.

'So, how is everything going at the Slayer's college?'

Wesley did his best to ignore the sarcasm underlying the comment. 'We call it a school. And it's going rather well'.

It became obvious that his father wouldn't have enough with such an elusive answer. Finally the subject he was interested in had been brought up, and he wasn't going to give up that easily.

'Who is training the girls?'

'Well, we have some Watchers that survived the First's attack, plus Giles and Wood' At his father's raised eyebrow, he specified 'Robin Wood was the Slayer Nicki Wood's son. He was raised by her Watcher, and he has experience with teenagers, as he used to be a secondary school headmaster'.

'Really? How interesting. Are there some secondary school teachers as well?'

The sarcasm of his voice wasn't lost in Wesley, but he ignored it. 'Actually, yes. They take care of the non-Slayage studies'.

'Non-Slayage studies?'

'The girls can finish their secondary school studies if they want to'.

Roger Wyndam-Pryce's face was unreadable. 'I see. Who is in charge?'

'Giles and Wood act as Headmaster and Deputy Headmaster of the school. I'm in charge of all the non-teaching related affairs, like registering where other Slayers are and keeping the local demoniac population down'.

His father ignored the reference to himself (when hadn't he?) and instead, he focused his attention in the first bit of information.

'Ripper and a school teacher are in charge?' This time he didn't try to hide his contempt. 'Tell me, are those civilians... no, wait, that's not what they're called... oh, yeah, those _friends_ of Sunnydale's Slayer still around? Do they train the girls, too?'

'No' Wesley replied, forcing himself to sound polite. 'They're looking for more Slayers in several continents, along with Buffy and Spike'.

At once, he regretted mentioning Spike's name when he saw a sneer forming on the older man's face.

'Oh, yes. _Spike_. One of her vampire lovers. How many has she got, apart from the one who used to be your boss?' Before Wesley could reply, he continued 'Now they're supposed to be good, though. With a human soul and everything. But I still remember when William the Bloody drained two of my colleagues without a second thought.'

His wife scowled. 'Can't you change the subject? We're eating lunch, remember?'

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce smiled fondly at his wife. 'Sorry, dear. I'll try not to get so specific'.

Wesley hoped that his father would leave the subject alone, but that was too much to ask.

'So, the rogue Slayer, that Faith, isn't working with you?'

Wesley choked and began to coff, his eyes watering. The Council had left Faith alone while she was in jail, but when she escaped they feared she'd gone wild again. Nothing that Giles'd said changed their decision of putting an end to the rogue Slayer's life (especially now that they had so many other Slayers at hand), so Giles had lied to them and said that she was on the run. Obviously, her work at the Slayer's school had to be kept a secret.

'Of course not, father. She's run away. None of us knows where she's gone'.

His father looked skeptical, but for once he didn't push the subject. Instead he said:

'I still cannot believe how come the Council has trusted Rupert Giles with this task, let alone give him almost unlimited funds for it'.

Wesley mentally counted to ten.

'Maybe because he saved the day in Sunnydale several times, and was there when the spell that'd turned all the Potentials into Slayers was performed.'

His father snorted. 'That was the most senseless thing I've ever heard, to let an amateur Wiccan witch perform a spell like that, with no consideration for the ways it could affect the Slayer line at all...'

It was fortunate that Maggie chose that moment to retrieve the dishes, and his mother rose from her chair, indicating them to do the same.

Now that lunch was over, it was the right time to announce his departure and get away from there before things got out of hand with his father, but he hadn't the chance. As he started to say that perhaps he should get going, his mother had grabbed him by the arm and asked to stay until tea time with a hopeful sparkle in her eyes. And in an unforgivable moment of weakness, Wesley promised he would, completely against his better judgement.

* * *

In the afternath of the events at the Ministry of Magic that revealed the Dark Lord had really returned, Percy had pictured many times a reunion with his parents, and how he should apology for all the awful stuff he'd done. He'd made up long and short speechs, he'd pondered which tone of voice he should use and how he would address them, and he'd learnt it all by heart. 

Now that the time had came, though, Percy found himself speechless. He had no idea of what to say to the woman in front of him, a woman that had always taken care of him and got an ungrateful brat as reward. All his speechs were forgotten, all the possibilities had disappeared. He just stood there, still as a rock, unable to make a sound.

Soon he realised that it didn't matter much, as Molly Weasley had never been one of those that stay still for long, no matter the fierceness of her emotions.

Letting out a squeak, that miracously wasn't heard in the entire inn, she jumped from her seat and wrapped her arms around him, starting to sob on his should. Unsure of what to do at first, Percy proceeded to put his arms around her as well, and gave her a couple of unsure pats on the shoulder.

'Oh, P-Percy, I'm s-so happy to see you again...'

She was holding him so tightly that he had almost no air left in his lungs. The vampire that had tried to strangle him had had a gentler touch.

But he was happy, though. Well, as happy as he could be with his mother sobbing endlessly on his shoulder and nearly strangling him. He'd forgotten how comforting one of his mother's hugs could be, and how warm it felt. Percy'd felt nothing but numb coldness since he'd gone from the Burrow, and especially after Penelope'd dumped him. Astounded, he realised that he hadn't been hugged or had hugged anybody since then. How terryfingly cold his life had turned into.

Finally, she realeased him. 'You must think I'm an old fool'.

A lifetime ago, Percy had felt embarassed at his mother's displays of affection, particularly in public. What an idiot he used to be.

'I don't think so, Mum. You know that'.

He wished she did know that, but he'd said so many awful things last time they'd seen each other...

Percy remembered it well: she'd gone to London, trying to convince him to go back to the Burrow. Although he was secretly glad to see his mother, he stiffly asked whether his father was ready to apologize over his lack of confidence in Percy's promotion, and whether he'd changed his opinion about all that nonsense of the Dark Lord coming back. His mother, uncomfortable, had admitted that wasn't the case, but she'd felt sure that if he went back he and his father would be able to sort thing out. Percy had felt indignant. How couldn't his father regret all the awful things he'd said? And how couldn't he see the error of his ways? But what bothered Percy the most was that his mother seemed to imply that _he_ was the one who had to apologize, when it was his father who got it wrong! Sure, he'd said a good amount of nasty things in the heat of the moment, but that still did not change the fact that _Percy_ was right, not him. No, he wouldn't return to the Burrow unless his father apologized first. And, besides, he was quite glad to live in a place of his own, after having to share everything with his brothers (and tolerate their childish behaviour) for his entire life. No, he was quite comfortable where he was, thank you very much.

He'd told his mother that, in an affected and pompous tone that had probably hurt her much more than his actual words. Percy'd seen her hurt expression, but he'd ignored it. It was obvious that she'd sided with her husband, and if she didn't realise how wrong she was then he could do nothing. He'd practically slammed the door on her face, right after he'd implied she would not be welcomed again unless she came to apologize. Now Percy wanted to hit his head against the wall for his stupidity and his heartlessness.

They sat down, his mother's hand never letting go his, as if she were afraid he'd vanish into thin air. The way she looked at him, with all the love and affection a mother could show, in spite of the terrible way he'd treated her, broke Percy's heart and made him feel even guiltier.

'I'm so happy to see you, dear' His mother repeated, her eyes never leaving his. He would have liked to look down, but he refrained the impulse. He couldn't be such a coward. 'It's been so long. But you look so thin! Have you been eating at all?'

It was so bizarre to see her fussing over him just like she'd always done when he returned from Hogwarts. It seemed as though no time had passed since then.

He reassured his mother, telling her that he was eating more than enough, and that his skinny complexion was caused by his metabolism, not by the lack of food.

'And have you been sleeping well? You look tired, dear. Are you working too hard?'

The situation was getting more and more bizarre by the minute. Wasn't she supposed to be cold, while he stuttered an apology? Was she supposed to worry about his welfare, when he'd cared so little about hers?

'I assure you, Mum, that I'm not working that much and that I sleep all the hours I need. You don't have to worry about that'.

However, his mother didn't look calmer.

'Oh, I'm fussing over you again, right? As if you were a little child and couldn't take care of yourself, when you've been living on your own all this time! I'm sorry, Percy, I shouldn't act like this.'

An apology was the last thing he'd expected to hear from his mother, and it turned out to be more than he could take in.

'Mum, you don't have to apology for anything. I'm' Percy took a deep breath 'I'm the one who should be apologizing, after the way I treated you and Dad last year. No, Mum, please don't interrupt me' He said, when she began to shook her head and opened her mouth. 'I treated you awfully for no reason. You've always taken care of me, and in exchange I behaved like a senseless git. I'm the one who's supposed to be sorry. And I am. Mum, please believe me that I am'

To his horror, his voice cracked and he felt a knot strangling his throat with more force than a dozen vampires. His eyes began to water and he had to look down, too ashamed to face his mother. 'You should hate me', he whispered, dangerously close to tears, 'not worry about me'.

He caught a glimpse of his mother's lips curving into a smile.

'How could I hate you, silly? You're one of the most precious things in the world to me. I love you, Percy. Nothing can change that'.

He felt her hand caressing his hair gently, like when he'd been a small kid. Now Percy was almost on the verge of tears, much to his embarassment. What would the twins say if they could see him like that?

Several minutes passed, without either of them saying a word. It wasn't necessary. Percy took several long, deep breaths in order to calm himself down. When the knot released his throat enough so he could breath again and his eyes weren't wet anymore, he dared to look up, only to see his mother's loving smile.

'I brought you the sweater, look' She took the grey jumper and handed it to him. The tears threatened to come back.

'Mum, you didn't need to... I mean, about the sweater...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sent it back the way I did, I'm sure it hurt you and...'

'Shh, shh' she cut him in, rubbing his hand. 'Don't worry about it, sweetie.'

'But I do!', he protested. 'You've been the best mother in the world, and I was such an ungrateful brat. I...I'm afraid I'm a terrible son'.

She shook her head. 'No, you aren't. You were always such a good boy, you know? I think that you never gave me any trouble, always so kind and polite with everyone. Not even Bill and Charlie were so well-behaved. And I was so proud of how well you did at school'.

'Yeah, but then I turned out to be a complete git, didn't I?'

'Of course not. After all, your father and I had taught you to stand up for your beliefs. It wasn't your fault if they weren't the same beliefs we had.'

Percy looked at her in disbelief. 'But all the awful stuff I said...'

'Percy, it's a known fact that Weasleys have an awful temper. We always say things that we don't truly mean. After all, how many times have your heard me swear I'd murder the twins?'

He smiled a little in spite of himself, and she smiled back.

'Percy, all the things we've said don't matter now. All that matters is that we love you. Never forget that'.

They said nothing for a while, each one too absorbed in their own thoughts. Suddenly, his mother said:

'Did you know Ginny has a boyfriend?'

Percy jumped on his seat.

'What!'

'Oh, yeah, he's one of Ron's classmates, Dean Thomas. He's really nice, and he's a muggleborn, so your father was very excited when we met his parents last summer. And Ron's doing great in the Quidditch Team, and also as a prefect...'

His mother filled him in with all the latest news from his family. Percy was shocked to see how many things could happen in such a short amount of time. Charlie had been promoted, Bill was dating a French girl, the twins were renting a flat in London and apparently they were doing great with the joke-shop...

'Tell me a little about you, now'.

Percy told her he'd moved in with Oliver Wood and a muggle friend from work. Then he'd hurried to assure her that his job consisted mostly in paperwork, and that he wasn't in any danger. He was sorry to lie to her, but he thought it'd be for the best. Already too many of her children had dangerous careers.

'You dad told me he'd seen you at work, with Dumbledore's friends' At the mention of his father, Percy fell silent. It hadn't gone unnoticed his absence. Sensing this, his mother hurried to add: 'You know he'd wanted to see you. He was so sorry he couldn't make it...'

They both knew it was a blatant lie, but in this very right moment Percy didn't want to think of the reasons his father refused to see him. Instead, he kept asking his mother about his brothers, feeling terribly homesick as he did so. The last time he'd been living with them, he'd done all he could to avoid them and he hadn't bothered to find out what was going on in their lives. Now it was a different story. Every insignificant piece of news, every tiny detail was incredibly important to him now.

He had never realised how much he'd missed them all (even the twins) and how much did he want to see them again until that moment .

* * *

Little Wesley was afraid of many, many things. First of all, he was scared to death of vampires and demons. But the probabilities of seeing a vamp or demon face to face anytime soon was remote. He knew he'd face them when he got older and became a Watcher like his dad, but then he'd be an adult and it wouldn't matter. Little Wesley was naïve enough to believe that adults were afraid of nothing, and he didn't see why he would be the exception. So he didn't care that much about vampires and demons. 

There also was the fear of getting really hurt, like when he broke his arm while he was riding a new bike. That had been awful.

Then, although he knew it was kind of silly, he didn't like darkness much. Especially when his dad locked him under the stairs after he'd done something wrong, and he stayed there for what seemed ages, completely alone in the dark. And you never knew what could be lurking in the dark. No, definately Little Wesley didn't like the dark.

He was also a bit scared of big dogs, wasps, a gang of older children who always picked on him, and his Granny dying. His Granny had been sick as far as he could remember, and she always said that she'd die anytime soon. Wesley didn't want his Granny to die.

But the worst of all his fears, the greatest terror he'd ever felt, was quite mundane compared to vampires. Or at least that was what many people would have thought, but not him. For Little Wesley, the thing he feared the most was to disappoint his father and therefore, make his dad to be mad at him.

It wasn't that Mr. Wyndam-Pryce was particularly cruel or anything. Well, at least he didn't beat him up, like the father of one of his classmates did to his children. No, Father was always very fair: usually he just hit once or twice Wesley's fingers with a ruler, and only rarely he'd used the belt on him, and it hadn't hurt for long.

He did lock him under the stairs, but that was what scared Wesley the less. No, what truly terrified him was when his father called him to the library and insisted on having one of those man-to-man chats. Which were much more like lectures than real chats, as Wesley usually wasn't allowed to speak.

The kid always left the library with his legs shaking and on the verge of tears. He did not cry – at least not in front of anyone – because men didn't cry (_but God, he wanted to cry so badly, he felt so much like a kid..._), but he felt so badly... Father always talked about Wesley's responsabilities, and about how he had to be strong and wise or he'd make loads of mistakes, and he always said that he hoped that his son wouldn't disappoint him once more. His father always said that in such a terrible tone that the boy's legs turned into jelly and he didn't dare to look the man in the face. Wesley didn't want to disappoint his dad. But there were so many things he did wrong...

As he got older, Wesley conquered many of his fears. Now he couldn't care less about wasps and dogs, not to say he'd finished school long ago so bullies were no longer a problem, and he was even beggining to be sort of fond of darkness. As for facing vampires and demons and getting badly hurt, well, he had gained experience in both fronts.

However, the fear of making his father mad accompanied him for a longer while (Had he ever really got over it?) and lately he'd grown quite scared of long, boring lectures, especially when they were led by old Watchers. That afternoon at his parents' library seemed dangerously close to combine them both.

The tension had been going _in crescendo_ between Mr. Wyndam-Pryce and his son since the end of the lunch. None of them had said nothing rude or snappish, but the politeness of their tones was wearing off with every passing minute, and soon their comments wouldn't be polite anymore. Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, in spite of being a rather brilliant woman, acted as if she was oblivious to the increasing tension between her husband and son, and she kept chattering cheerfully, although the men didn't look particularly cheerful.

Most unfortunately, one of Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce's colleagues called in the middle of the visit. According to Maggie, who'd answered the phone, Professor Netherfield had assured it was something extremely urgent. Barely hiding her annoyment, she excused herself and went to get the phone from her office.

When she left them alone, the silence in the room seemed to thicken until it was hard to breath. Or at least it was getting hard for Wesley: his father was eyeing the front page of a newspaper, apparently unaware of his son's presence. Or so he pretended, because as soon as he was certain his wife couldn't hear them, he said:

'She was very glad to see you. I would have been glad too if it hadn't been for the tiny detail that I had to threaten you to show up at London so you finally decided to visit your parents'.

Wesley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'It wasn't like that'.

He raised his eyebrows. 'No? Then how was it? Because all I know is that you've been in England for months, but I've only found out because an old colleague told me she'd seen you with Rupert Giles. I mean, when were you planning to let us now about you being here?'

'I've been busy'.

'Sure, I have no doubt you've been busy. Like you used to be too busy in America to call your mother'.

Wesley straightened up in his seat. 'I did call'.

His father snorted. 'Thrice a year, including Christmas'.

'If you wanted to talk to me, you could have called yourself. It's not that expensive'.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce glared at him. There was a while when that glare would have frozen him with fear. Now, though, it only managed to irritate him. He couldn't believe, after everything that had happened between them, that he is father was reproaching him for not calling.

'And to get that vampire to answer the phone? No, thank you very much. And I guess it would be rather silly of me to say that you could have visited us in all this time. I'm aware that you didn't have a well-paid job, but...'

Now Wesley felt thoroughbly annoyed. How dared his father, after turning his back on him for years, to accuse him of neglecting his parents?

'Sorry, but I seem to recall that, when I spoke to you four years ago, you weren't dying to see me. Actually, I recall you saying _"Don't you dare to come back now, boy"_'

His father waved a hand, as if it were unimportant.

'Of course I said that. I didn't want you to come back to your home wailing like a small child after your failure in Sunnydale.'

Wesley paled and it took him all his might to prevent his voice from shaking with fury.

'So that was the opinion you had of me? That I would have "wailed like a small child"? Well, thank you father. It's nice to know what you think of me'.

The older man shrugged. 'Don't be such a drama queen, son. What I meant is that I thought it'd be better for you to stay a while away from here, until you'd recovered from the first blow. Give you some time to stand your own ground again'.

'Right. So you forbidded me to go go back to my house for my own good?'

His father shrugged. 'I thought – quite naïvely – that if I gave you some time you'd manage to find your own place. Little did I imagine that you'd do it by the side of a vampire'.

Wesley clenched his hands into fists, feeling a little more than annoyed now. 'I guess it doesn't matter that I did so to prevent Apocalypsys and to protect innocent people from the forces of evil, right?'

His father replied calmly: 'There are ways and ways of doing things, son'.

'Of course. But every way that's not _your_ way is wrong, isn't it?'

A heavy, dense silence fell upon them, during which they didn't look at each other. Instead, Wesley focused his attention on the nearest bookshelf, as if he were examining the books' titles, althought in fact he was paying no attention to them. He could hear his father flipping the pages of the newspaper, but he'd got the suspicion his attention wasn't on the paper either.

The door opened, and someone entered. Both men looked up to see Mrs. Wyndam-Pryce, with a tired expression on her face, sat down in her favourite armchair. She gave them a small smile, and noticed a second too late that none of them looked particularly cheerful. She seemed confused at first, then a glint of suspicion appeared in her eyes.

'Have you been quarreling or something?'

Wesley opened his mouth to answer, but his father beat him.

'Not at all, Ellen. We've been just talking over a few things'.

At those words, all the suspicion disappeared from her face to be replaced by its usual calmness. 'Oh, all right then. Do you want to hear what Professor Netherfield asked me to do...?'

Wesley stared at his mother in disbelief. The tension in the room was so thick that could be felt on the skin, and his father's words had not only been a blatant lie, but also sounded like one.

Many times over the last couple of years Wesley had wondered how come his mother had never noticed the way things truly were between him and his father. How could she, such an intelligent woman, ignore what was going on in her own house?

Now, though, he thought he might had found out the answer, as he remembered an old saying: "None so blind as those that will not see". As he watched his mother trying to ease the tension with mundane chatter, not seeing the dark glances his father and him exchanged, he realised those words described her more than he'd have liked to admit.

Suddenly he felt so tired of all the facade, so tired of pretending they were a normal, sane family. For years he'd believed all families were like his – or plainly worse – but now that he knew the truth, he didn't think he could take it anymore. He'd had enough father-and-son time for a year.

He stood up as soon as his mother finished telling her story. She looked at him, frowning.

'I think it's already time for me to get going. I've got work tomorrow.'

'On a Sunday?' In spite of her disappointed tone, she soon regained her composure. After all, she'd been married to a Watcher for enough time to know that it wasn't a normal career. However, that didn't prevent her from insisting on him to stay.

'Leave him alone, Ellen. He probably has to get to work as soon as he can – the place must be a chaos by now'.

Wesley, who'd decided to leave quietly without picking a fight with his father, spun so fast that he nearly knocked a coffee table, his eyes flashing with repressed anger.

'Excuse me, but what's that supposed to mean?' he snarled. His father, of course, remained calm.

'Nothing, nothing. It's just that it's sort of amusing to imagine Watchers playing to the school teacher with an army of Slayers. It's not...well, the thing a traditional Watcher would do'.

This time, Wesley didn't bother to repress his anger, Through gritted teeth, he hissed:

'Of course, that's what bothers you, isn't it? That I'm not doing the sort of thing traditional, old-fashioned Watcher would do? Or because it's not the sort of thing you'd done?'

His father's lips had turned into a tight, thin line, and he seemed to be losing some of his self-control, but he said nothing. Wesley took the chance to continue.

'It's that, isn't it? What bothers you is that I never turned out to be the Watcher you were, But what I still don't know is what upsets you the most: that I failed to follow in your footsteps, or that I've accomplished things you've never dreamed of?'

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce chose to ignore the last part and said sternly: 'I tried to give you the best training possible, teaching you all the things you needed to know. You should be grateful for that, even though apparently you never bothered to learn my lessons'.

When he heard that, Wesley couldn't help to let out a harsh laugh.

'Oh, sure you did teach me well. How could I forget your lessons, when they were always followed by your unique means of education, such as locking me under the stairs or insulting me? Oh, you can be certain I learnt all your lessons by heart. When I went to Sunnydale, I struggled to follow all the rules, to do everything by the book, just like you'd taught me. And all I managed to do was to push one Slayer more over the edge and to make the other one to give up on the Watchers' Council altogether. But when I made a fool of myself it was just my fault, wasn't it?' He shook his head. 'Sorry to break the news to you, Father, but all that time you got it wrong. You couldn't have been more mistaken about the right way of dealing with Faith and Buffy, as you were wrong in many other things. Wow, in all those years I hand't realised how wrong many of your ideas were, and what a fool I was for following them. But I'm not ungrateful: Father, I wanted to thank you to helping to turn me in such a failure. I certainly owe a large part of it to you.'

'How dare you...' His father had stood up, and he was raising a hand. Wesley snorted.

'What are you going to do, father? Hit me? Give me a lecture? Or just lock me under the stairs like you used to? 'Cause I'm afraid I'm a little bit grown-up for that now.'

'_Stop this now!_'

Ellen Wyndam-Pryce had risen from her seat, a red flush on her cheeks. Both men turned to face her, a little bit taken aback as they'd forgotten she was there at all.

'All of us have comitted mistakes through the years.' Then, she added, in a somber tone and with an absent look in her eyes. 'Certain things just need to be done, no matter how unpleasent they are. Things are the way they are'.

Little Wesley, like any child, had adored his mummy. In comparison to his daddy, she'd appeared to be the most tender and sweetest person in the world, in spite of her lack of displays of affection. Young Wesley had pitied her, naïvely thinking that she had to put up with his father's coldness as he did, and believing that she knew nothing of the way his father treated him.

The grown-up version of Wesley, though, was looking at her in a whole new light. He'd thought she'd ignored what was going on under her roof. Ok, maybe she'd forced herself not to see it, but she still ignored it. Now, though, he realised things were completely different. Not only his mother had known everything about the way his father treated him, but also had let it happen without doing nothing about it. Not only that, but from her tone of voice Wesley realised she'd _condoned_ it. Suddenly, when he looked at her, he felt something he'd never felt towards her.

Anger.

His eyes, flashing, fixed on her face. Her face remained expressionless, and Wesley burst.

'All these years, I thought you knew nothing about the way he treated me. But I was wrong, wasn't I? You knew it from the beggining. Not only that, but you also approved it.' Wesley shook his head. 'I always thought you were different from him, but I was wrong about that too. You were just like him...except you didn't have the courage to look at me in the eye when I was disciplined, did you?'

His words, or maybe just the tone of his voice, managed to crack for once the perpetual mask of courtesy and coolness Ellen Wyndam-Pryce always wore. She opened her mouth to say something, an apology perhaps, but Wesley didn't want to hear it. He turned and headed to the door, and his hand was already turning the knob when he heard her voice calling after him:

'Wes, please...'

He turned to face her, a scowl on his face. She looked at him imploringly.

'Please, don't go like this. I cannot bear it'.

Her lips had turned white, her eyes were wide open and her hands were shaking. He'd never seen her looking like a mess before.

He sighed. Suddenly, all his anger had vanished, leaving nothing but numbness. He realised that his mother still needed to keep up the facade of the happy family, and Wesley found that he couldn't deny her that.

'All right, Mother' He said in an expressionless tone. He approached her and kissed her on the cheek mechanically, then he turned to face his father, who looked away. 'Goodbye, Mother; goodbye, Father. I'll call you one of this days.'

Then he turned around and left the room, swearing never to come back to that house again.

'_Don't wanna be the one who turns the whole thing over_

_Don't wanna be somewhere where I just don't belong_

_Where it's not enough just to be sorry'_

'_**Bed of Lies'**, by Matchbox 20._

**

* * *

**

**Author's Notes: **I got one favor to ask. I assume you all have seen those hats that people wear for their graduation day together with the robes, right? Well, can anyone tell me what are those hats called in English? I'll be very thankful if you do.

See you!


	4. Chapter Four: Part Four of Five

**Mikhyel: **Yeah, you can bet that family confrontations are much funnier to write than to live through. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the chapter.

**db:** Thanks both for the review and for telling me about the mortar boards. I wouldn't have guessed it in a million years!

* * *

**Chapter Four:**

'_Don't you know I feel the darkness closing in_

_I tried to be more than me_

_And I gave til it all went away_

_And we've only surrendered_

_To the worst part of these winters that we've made'_

'_**Bed of Lies'**, by Matchbox 20._

After his mother had to leave, Percy went to Diagon Alley and wandered for hours, still not ready to return home.

He reflected in all he and his mother had talked about. He pondered about the way his brothers and sister were going on with their lives without even noticing he was absent. He dwelled in his past faults. But, most of all, he thought about the reasons his father hadn't showed up.

He couldn't say he'd been surprised. When they'd seen each other at the school, apart from his first greeting his father had showed no signs of knowing him at all. He'd given him the same cold, dettached treatment Percy had used on him when they'd run into each other at the Ministry of Magic. Hell, he hadn't even said goodbye when he'd left...which, considering the way Percy had treated him in the past, wasn't much of a surprise.

And it had been his father who'd been the angriest when he'd left. After all, it was him the one who received Percy's hurtful words, it was him who'd tried to talk some sense into him and got insulted for his concern.

Besides, his father didn't have his wife's temper. Most of the people that knew them thought that Arthur Weasley never got mad, but they were wrong. It was just that his madness was different. His temper didn't rise as easily as his wife's, nor did it calm so fast. Molly Weasley could scream at the top of her lungs for hours, and then forgive instantly the cause of her fury. His father wasn't like that. He rarely got mad, but when he did, his fury was the cold type, the type of fury that lasted for months. And Percy had certainly made an effort to provoke that fury.

He felt horrified when he remembered all he'd said that night especially because, in spite of what his mother'd said, he'd fully meant it, at least back then. In the last months he'd been living at the Burrow, he'd noticed how far his family was from his ideal, and he'd begun to think that they might become a problem for his career. Deep down, he'd known for a long while that some day he'd have to choose between his family and his ambition...and when Fudge promoted him, that day came. The worst part was the way he'd used the unknown return of the Dark Lord as an excuse to get rid of his family. He'd said he was doing it because he didn't believe You-Know-Who was back (well, he really hadn't believed it back then) but in fact it had always been about his damned ambition. And where had that led him?

So he hadn't been surprised at all when his father hadn't showed up, although deep down he'd had the faint hope that he would. A part of him had hoped he'd be able to apologize, that everything would be fixed, and that he'd never see that coldness in his father's eyes again. Of course, it had been silly to think that. His father had no reason to want to see him again, not after of the way he'd hurt him.

Percy kept walking without seeing where he was going. He just couldn't be still when his mind was whirling with a thousand thoughts.

He remembered that when he'd been little his father had been his hero. He remembered following him around, always trying to get his attention. Of course, his brothers had done the same, so at a very young age Percy had realised he had rivalry for his parents' attention. At a very young age, Percy had realised he needed to do something toearn it. Bill was the brightest, Charlie the bravest, the twins the funniest, and Ron and Ginny were the cute little babies, so he had to do something to gain his own place. He decided to become the good one: the one that had the top grades, the Head Boy's badge, the most courteous manners, the one that followed all the rules. That had earned him a place in the family and in his parents' hearts. And when he'd started saying, at seven, that he wanted to work at the Ministry, his dad had been delighted. Finally one of his children wished to follow on his steps.

Only that it hadn't turned out that way.

As a child, he'd wanted his parents and his siblings' admiration; at school he'd wished the same from his teachers and classmates, particularly the former. But when he was at Hogwarts he began to see all the things his family lacked, and secretly he'd started wanting them. That had been how his ambition had started: he wanted respect not only from his family and teachers, but from _absolutely_ everyone. And there was one way to get all that: to become the youngest Minister of Magic ever.

Soon, his ambition replaced the wish of following his dad's footsteps. When he'd joined the Ministry, his ambition did nothing but to increase, as the wish of imitating his dad disappeared when he realised Mr. Weasley wasn't all that respected. If he'd realised that not everyone's respect was important, that just a few were more than enough...

So finally it had all blown up when Fudge had promoted him, and for once his father hadn't believed in him. Percy had felt terribly disappointed at his dad's lack of confidence in him... but probably not as much as his dad had at _Percy's_ lack of confidence in him.

One way or another, Percy had ended up hurting badly one of the persons who cared for him the most, and he hadn't given a damn about it.

Percy blinked when he felt something wet on his nose. He blinked again when another drop of water fell on his head. He looked up at the suddenly grey sky. Great. Now it was starting to rain.

For the eleventh time, Percy pondered about how much he did loathe rain as he headed to his home.

* * *

Wesley was striding towards the front door, each step he took longer than the last one, trying to put as much distance as he could between his parents and him. 

He heard footsteps following him but he ignored them. He certainly wasn't in the mood to face none of his parents any time soon.

'Wes! Wait!', a voice called after him. He almost ignored it, but then stopped walking and turned round to see Maggie trying to catchon him.

'What's the matter?'

Panting, the woman finally approached him. 'Look, I know it's none of my business, and maybe it never was, but I couldn't help overhearing some parts of the discussion as I was cleaning the room next to the library...'

Wesley repressed a snort. Maggie had found out about nearly everything that was going on under their roof by overhearing conversations, although she'd always been so discreet about her habit that his parents had never found out about her eavesdroping. Wesley, though, was another story.

'I know you're angry with your them, but Wes, they're still your parents'.

_Unfortunately._

'Maggie, you know better than anybody the way my father treated me all these years. The insulting, locking me under the stairs...' A pained look shadowed her features, but she said nothing. 'Until now, I've always thought it had been my father's fault entirely. Now I know better: not only my mother knew, but she also condoned it. That's a little too much to take right now'.

He turned again to leave, but felt her tight grip on his arm. Scowling, he turned to face her, but his expression softened after seeing the look of deep sadness and regret in her eyes.

'Please, Wes. At least listen to what I've got to say'.

He took a deep breath. 'All right. I'm listening'.

She didn't need much encouragement.

'God knows that I didn't approve many of the things your parents did, but it was never up to me saying something about it' She shook her head sadly. 'I regret now not speaking up, but back then... Well, what's in the past remains in the past. However, there are certain things that you couldn't see as a child, certain things about your parents that I think you should know'.

Wesley raised his eyebrows. 'I never thought you'd be the one to make up excuses for them, Maggie' He added, in a tired tone: 'I've had enough of those already'.

She gave him a knowing look and shook her head.

'I wouldn't excuse them even if I could. No, Wesley, you won't hear any excuses from me, neither for your parents nor for myself. But still...' Her gaze got lost for a moment a she dwelled in her thoughts. Suddenly she blinked, as if she'd been snapped back to reality. When she spoke, her voice was firmer.

'I've known your mother's family for many years. As you know, your grandfather died when she was young. But what you don't know is what kind of man he was: cold and strict, he treated his family the same way he treated the younger officers at the army. He did not tolerate mistakes or weaknesses' At this words, Wesley felt a déjà vu, but remained silent. 'At his death, your mother, being as young as she was, had to take care of the house and especially of your Granny, who...well, wasn't very strong' That was a bit of an euphemism: Wesley's Granny had been an hypochondriac old woman who was perpetually sick. 'Your mother, who took after your grandfather in many ways, was forced to grow up very quickly and become tougher. She wasn't as intolerant as her father, but she certainly wasn't someone soft. Then she met your father.

'Being the daughter of a soldier as she was, your mother understood the importance of your father's work, and she also understood the importance of tradition. So when your father began to...well, let's call it toughen you up, she accepted it as something natural. I'm not trying to justify her. Just...try to understand. It broke her heart to see you suffer... She couldn't bear it, so she never was there when your father disciplined you. But it doesn't mean that she didn't care, Wes. You've always been the world to her. The only times that I saw her cry were when something bad happened to you'.

Wesley, who'd never seen his mother shed a single tear, reluctantly recognized that what Maggie said spoke volumes about how much his mother cared for him. But it wouldn't heal the wounds that were bleeding now. Maybe, after some time... but not yet.

'I appreciate what you've told me, Maggie. But I'm afraid that nothing you say will make me think better of my father'.

She cast him apensive look. 'No, it won't. Words would be useless. But maybe I can show you something.'

'What...?'

Before he could ask, she grabbed his arm again and guided him down the hallway, until she stopped in front of one of the doors and pulled a key out of her pocket. Wesley stared at her in shock.

That room was his father's private study. But it was much, much more. During his childhood, it had been a sanctuary, a sanctuary where no one apart from his mother and sometimes Maggie could get in, not even the maid. Wesley, certainly, wasn't allowed. Once he'd sneaked inside, in the memorable time he'd taken a spell to resurrect a bird, and the punishment that followed was still fixed in his mind.

The rest of the time, that room was a mystery, full of dark secrets and magic treasures. Years later, when he graduated, he'd been able to get inside a few times – always with his father's invitation as the room was always locked – and had found nothing extremely mysterious about it, except for some ancients books and his father's whisky. However, in his mind he'd always see the place like a forbidden sanctuary, and what Maggie was going to do was a blasphemy.

'Maggie, this could cost you your job...'

She silenced him with a look and opened the door. After turning on the lights, she stepped aside.

'Go in there, Wes. You might find something about your father that could interest you'.

And he did. Hell if he did.

* * *

Cursing under his breath, Percy struggled with the keys until he found the right one. He was too used to magical doors that needed no keys to be opened. 

He entered the building and walked down a narrow, shadowed corridor. As he walked past several closed doors and felt the dampness surrounding him, he thought the place was quite tetric, like those endless passageways in the black-and-white horror movies Andrew adored. Or perhaps it was just his somber mood.

He reached the stairs (he just couldn't trust muggle lifts) and headed to the second floor, where their flat was...at the very end of a ridiculously long, dark corridor, of course.

When he was a few steps from his flat Percy noticed something strange. There was a thin line of yellowish light coming from under the door, which was a certain sign that someone was in there. But Oliver was working and Andrew had said he wouldn't return until much later, so no one was supposed to be there.

He shrugged. Perhaps one of his friends had returned sooner. Or, very possibly, Oliver had forgotten to turn off the lights again.

This time, he already got the right key clutched in his hand. He opened the door and froze in the frame. Because the person sitting at the white table was neither Andrew nor Oliver, and it wasn't any of the friends they had in common.

Actually, it was the last person in the world he'd thought he'd see at his flat that day...or any other day in his whole life.

'_All the times that I've cried_

_Keeping all the things I knew inside_

_It's hard, but it's harder_

_To ignore it_

_If they were right I'd agree_

_But it's them they know, not me_

_Now there's a way and I know_

_That i have to go away_

_I know I have to go'_

'_**Father and Son'**, by Cat Stevens_


	5. Chapter Five: Part Five of Five

**Muses9:** Hey, there's no need to apologize. All of us has a real life. Or at least something that resembles it. Besides, you always send me reviews. Thank you so much for your support! I hope that you'll soon get over the freezing part. It could have been worse, though. It could have RAINED NONSTOP. That'd been really, really dreadful.

**asuki-anani: **Thank you! Hope you like this one too.

**db: **Yep, I can be mean. But stop suffering: here's the last chapter! You know, I'm rather fond of this little universe as well. I'm afraid that I won't like it so much to see the way Percy's portrayed in Book Six...

* * *

**Chapter Five:**_'I never thought I'd end up here__Never thought I'd be standing where I am__I guess I kinda thought it would be easier than this__I guess I was wrong'_

**_'Sick Cycle Carrousel'_**_, by Lifehouse_

Wesley stepped into the room slowly, with the same reverence some people would walk into a temple they considered sacred. In an odd way, it was. This was the place where his father spent so many isolated hours, the place where his father reunited with important members of the Council and where he kept his most precious possessions.

The room screamed his father's name from every corner, from the classical wooden furniture to the paintings on the walls. He saw the ancient books carefully kept in special bookshelves protected by glass, along with some valuable magical elements, he saw his father's favourite armchair, the Tiffany's lamp on the desk... The desk.

At that desk, Wesley's father had spent many hours; at that desk, Wesley had always seen his father every time he'd ventured into the study, always giving the distinct impression that he was too busy to really pay attention to whatever his son had had to say, in spite of having invited Wesley beforehand.

Without thinking, Wesley made a beeline straight to the desk. The top wasn't as neat as the rest of the house, the study was possibly the only place in Earth where Roger Wyndam-Pryce allowed himself to be untidy. The desktop was covered in papers, books, broken pens and magazines. His gaze surveyed the desktop, grabbing a book here to read its title, taking a paper there and giving it a quick glance to see what it was about. There was something profane about it, which made it more irresistible and even necessary. His father had always tried to know about every aspect of his life, whereas Wesley had always been forced to ignore a large part of his father's life. He realised this was one in a lifetime opportunity, and he wouldn't waste it.

One of the magazines, which was half-hidden by a pile of papers, caught his eye. It was much more colourful than the rest, and instead of an archaeological discovery or an article about some dead language, it had a famous model on the frontpage.

Wesley blinked and checked again. No, his eyes weren't deceiving him: it was definately one of those magazines that only Cordelia could read. Wesley chuckled bitterly. Who would have thought that the always serious Roger Wyndam-Pryce had a frivolous side?

He put the magazine aside, still chuckling through his teeth, and took instead a framed photograph he knew too well: his parents' wedding. In the picture, they looked not only much younger, but also less stiff and more carefree than usual. His mother's eyes were sparkling with joy and his father, instead of looking at the camera, was beaming at his new wife.

_Of course. That was before I was born_.

He glanced at Maggie, who was still standing at the doorway. What had she wanted him to see? Here there was nothing (well, except for the magazine) that he hadn't expected to see. Everything in that room represented all he'd always known about his father. There wasn't anything new or anything capable of changing the mental image he had of his father. Why, then, had the housekeeper insisted on showing him all of this?

He was going to put the frame back to its original place when he spotted something. Right behind where the wedding picture had been, there was another framed photograph, one he'd never seen before. Frowning, he left the wedding picture on the desktop and grabbed the unknown one. After taking off the thin layer of dust that covered it, Wesley's eyes widened in surprise.

Wearing a dark set of robes and a mortar board, was none other but himself at his graduation day. Wesley remembered that day well. His father, instead of congratulating him on finishing Watcher's Academy at top of his class like everybody else did, stiffly told him that from that moment on he'd have to be ready to work harder than before, that things wouldn't be as easy as they had been at school.

For once, his father had been right.

He'd never seen the picture before. He reasoned that probably the wedding photograph had withdrew it from sight, and that was why he hadn't spotted it before. However, a sudden suspicion made him to take a closer look at his surroundings, and soon enough he found something that definately _hadn't_ been there the last time Wesley had seen the study.

Hanging from one of the walls, there was a framed diploma... _his_ diploma. _I'm hallucinating. _He turned to look at Maggie.

'That wasn't there before', he said. Her face was unreadable.

'It's been there for years'.

Wesley was taken aback. His father had framed his diploma? And he had a picture of his son in his study? In which kind of bizarre alternate dimension had he fallen into?

He began to walk in circles around the room, trying to spot other things out of place. And he did.

In one of the bookshelves protected by glass, he found a inexpertly handmade tiny bow. Wesley remembered it well. He'd been six, and he'd spent a whole afternoon trying to make a bow with his clumsy hands, and then he'd given it to his father as a present. It had been a hint: he wanted his father to teach him to use a bow.

His father had examined the bow with an unreadable expression on his face and then, very severely, had said that he'd preferred Wesley to focus all his attention on his studies instead of craftsmanship.

Little Wesley had waited until he was alone to cry for an hour.

His gaze continued suveying the room's walls. Something caught his attention, and in one stride he reached a coffee table, which had on it an embalmed bird as decoration... The very same bird Little Wesley had foolishly tried to resurrect. His eyes were now as round as saucers, and his eyes kept searching...

A particularly difficult translation he'd done at fifteen and for which he'd got full marks was on a shelf... A picture of his father and himself when he was ten... The golden pen he'd sent to his father for his last birthday...

Everywhere he looked, he saw signs of his own presence in a room where he'd always felt unwelcomed and out of place. In a place where his father had always isolated himself, Wesley discovered traces of the things they'd shared together.

He couldn't believe it. Why had his father hidden all these things when Wesley entered his study? Why hadn't his father ever showed that he cared a little bit about him?

His feet headed him back to the desk. He strecthed out an arm and picked up the same magazine he'd thought out of place. Now he took a closer look, he noted that the magazine was some years old.

He flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. A small picture, surrounded of a dozen pictures with famous people in them, came to his sight. There was a beautiful, red-haired woman in it, and standing right by her side was himself. He read the caption next to the picture: _"Virginia Bryce squired by Mr. Wesley Wyndham-Price, private detective and bodyguard to the stars"_.

Something fell from the magazine. Wesley looked down and saw a sheet of paper. Putting down the magazine, he picked up the sheet of paper and unfolded it.

He'd thought that nothing could surprise him anymore. He'd been wrong.

Before his eyes, there was an 'Angel Investigations' advertisement, printed right from the old website. Wesley had to look at it twice to trust his eyes. He had no idea that his father even knew what a computer was, let alone know how to use Internet.

Shocked beyond words, he turned once more to face Maggie. Feeling his heart pounding in his chest and a knot painfully forming in his throat, he blurted out:

'But why...why did he hide all this from me? Why did he never show that he..that he cared...?'

She crossed the room towards him and put a hand on his shoulder, a warm look in her eyes.

'Your father's always been proud of you. He's just never been able to say it'.

When Wesley's shoulders began to shake, she held him tight, like she'd always done when he was a small kid who felt unloved by his parents.

* * *

The man sitting at the white table looked up, and his eyes locked with Percy's. He felt how his mouth went dry. After what seemed an eternity, Percy walked towards the table, grabbed a plastic white chair and sat down in silence. He had an eerie sensation of surreality.

'Hello, Percy' He said in an even tone.

Percy swallowed.

''Lo, Father'.

A silence followed.

'Oliver Wood let me in. I almost didn't recognize him. He looks so much older now'.

Percy nodded, unable to speak. He felt like he might throw up if he did.

His father's gaze wandered, surveying the walls.

'Looks nice. Very muggle. Not what I expected'.

Percy finally managed to speak.

'One of our flatmates, Andrew, is muggle.'

'But you made some modifications' Percy shifted uncomfortably. His father, noticing this, raised both eyebrows. 'Percy, I didn't come here to arrest you'.

Feeling quite stupid, he relaxed...but not much. His father's words had left an unpoken question lingering in his mind: _Why did you come here, Dad?_

Apparently sensing his son's uneasiness , Mr. Weasley commented: 'You play the guitar now?' At Percy's nod, he added: 'I remember you always wanted a guitar, but we could never afford it' A shadow crossed his father's face, then disappeared. 'Your mother would be so happy to hear you play. She was always so proud of your musical talent'.

Another silence. 'Have you seen her?'

Percy nodded. 'We talked'.

'That's good'.

Both fell silent again and avoided to look at each other. Instead, his father gaze fixed on the guitar, while Percy's fixed on a point in mid air. He couldn't help wondering how the hell his father and him had managed to do all the talking before all the bad stuff started. He didn't remember ever having any trouble to talk to him, why, then, wasn't he capable of saying two words together in front of him now?

'I should have been there'

Percy looked up. 'Mum said you couldn't make it'.

Arthur Weasley grimaced. 'That's not exactly true.'

Not exactly a surprise, but Percy found that it hurt him all the same. But what could he expect? He'd rejected his own family. Why would they accept him back?

The silence seemed to grow heavier around them, asi if it had physical form. A physical form that asphyxiated both of them slowly.

'I guess I was afraid'.

His father's whisper was so faint that at first Percy wasn't sure whether he'd got it right. 'Afraid of what?'

Mr. Weasley sighed. 'Of seeing you again, I guess'.

Percy's eyes widened in shock. Of all the things he'd expected his father to say, that wasn't one of them.

'Why?'

His father didn't reply right away. He seemed to be pondering the answer.

'I wasn't sure what I'd find. It had been so long, and so many things had happened... I didn't know how much being with people like Fudge had got to you...' He looked at him straight in the eye. 'I was afraid I would no longer see my son again'.

At first, Percy looked at him in disbelief. How could he say such a thing? But then he remembered the way he'd acted all the previous year. How he'd laughed at Fudge's pathetic jokes, how he'd overlooked certain things the Minister did that weren't exactly legal or ethical, how he'd bowed his head in front of people like Lucius Malfoy... A few years back, he'd have been ashamed to do such things. True, he'd always wanted to please his superiors, and sometimes he'd been a little hypocritical in order to do so, but he'd always had certain values to stand for. He'd always had a bit of dignity. Dignity he'd very conveniently forgotten at the prospect of a job as the Minister's Junior Assitant and its incredible salary.

'And what do you see now?', he asked, almost dreading the answer. His father studied him intently.

'I see that I was a fool to believe such a thing. You'll always be my son'.

Percy did not answer. He thought that his father's words should have relieved him, but they had the opposite effect. Words heard long time ago echoed in his mind, coming from another time and place: _"I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son"_. He'd never fully understood what they meant. He thought he did now.

He knew he wasn't like the infamous Prodigal Son of the parable, but sometimes he felt like it. Especially when his own actions and words haunted him. _"You just cannot bear the thought that I have been promoted by my own merits, can you Father? Or are you envious because I did better than you?" "Ever since I started to work for the Ministry I had to put up with your reputation... Don't you know that you are a laughing stock at the Ministry, that everyone believes you to be ridiculous? I'm afraid I'm starting to believe that myself" "If it hadn't been for your foolish obsession with muggles and your lack of ambition, we wouldn't have had such a substandard life, we wouldn't have been laughed at by every respectable Wizarding family..." "You are an idiot to side with Dumbledore, can't you see the low image he has at the Ministry? Do you really believe all that nonsense about You-Know-Who?" "If you're going to become a traitor to the Ministry then...then I no longer belong to this family. Do you get that? You're no longer my father, and to me you're as well as dead!"_

And all that was just a tiny part of all the things he'd said. There had been a moment when he'd completely lost it and had started to shout all the worst insults he could think of, forgetting for once of his courteous manners and his pompous ways. He just wanted to hurt his father as much as he'd been hurt by his lack of confidence. He just wanted to inflict all the pain possible... because a part of him believed that if he was the one to inflict pain, then he wouldn't be hurt anymore. He'd been wrong.

So many harsh words, so many mistakes. So many things to make up for, so many apologies to say... He didn't know where to start. For once in his life, he didn't know what to say. He knew that mere words wouldn't fix this. Words alone wouldn't be able to erase all the bad memories, words couldn't make the coldness and the emptiness he felt to disappear. Words couldn't reverse time. They couldn't save their relationship.

But words were the only thing Percy'd ever got, and if they failed him, then he'd have nothing left.

'I'm sorry', he simply said. For once, he didn't try to make a speech. For once, he didn't try to sound important. 'There are so many things I wish I could take back...but I can't. I'm sorry'.

Arthur Weasley looked at him, and Percy saw a sad smile curve his lips.

'You aren't the only one'.

Percy blinked. 'Pardon me?'

His father took a long breath. 'You aren't the only one who has many things to regret. I... I was mad at you for quite a long time, see. I was furious for all the things you'd said, but I was even more furious at you for walking away from your family. I thought you had no reason to do such a thing, and that you were just an ungrateful brat. I knew we weren't perfect, but no one could accuse us of being uncaring parents. I could see no reason for you to want to get away from us. We'd always treated you the best way possible. And then, after a while...after a while I began wondering whether that was completely true.'

Percy gave him a questioning look. He felt lost. His father noticed, and he tried to be more precise.

'We took you for granted', he simply said. Which did nothing but to increase Percy's confusion.

'What do you mean?'

The older man sighed. 'You were the one with the good behaviour, the excellent grades. You were the one who never gave us any trouble. And we – well, at least I – took that for granted. I took for granted that you'd always do the right thing, so I felt that it wouldn't matter if every now and then I didn't pay you enough attention. It wouldn't matter if I worried more about your siblings, it wouldn't matter if I left you alone. 'Cause I was so sure you'd always get it right on your own. But I was wrong'.

Percy raised an eyebrow, wondering whether it was an accusation. But his father didn't sound mad; more than anything, he sounded regretful.

'One would think that with seven children I'd have learned a thing or two about raising them, right?' He shook his head. 'I shouldn't have neglected you like that. I saw that your grades were all right, that your health was all right, and I never tried to see whether everything else was all right. I never bothered to learn your classmates names, to meet your girlfriend, to ask you whether you were sad, or angry, or anything. I never bothered to defend you from your brothers' teasing. I took for granted that, whatever problem you got, you'd solve it in your own. I'm afraid that doesn't speak very well of my role as a father'.

There was a pause, during which they both stared at their feet. Percy would have liked to tell him not to blame everything on himself. After all, his father had always had to work so hard to keep a roof over their heads, and he had other six children (including the twins, that counted for four more) to take care of. It wasn't completely his fault if Percy had had to learn to handle things on his own at a young age. And he'd always liked to be independent and not to need anybody's help. Maybe it was true that many times his father hadn't been there to help him, but it was also true that Percy had never asked for his help.

His father was looking at him, his head inclined to one side. 'I should have known better. After all, you've always been a little too much like myself.'

Percy straightened up in his seat, raising his chin. 'What do you mean, Dad?'

And so, Arthur Weasley began his tale.

* * *

He'd been young, and he'd been naïve. Much like his third son. And he'd also had a wish: to work as close to muggles as possible.

So he joined the Ministry. His grades at Hogwarts had been excellent (he still got his Head Boy badge) and he'd always been hard-working, so soon his work began to be noticed by his superiors, and he was promoted.

At first, he'd started working at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. However, soon he was offered the opportunity to be transfered at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, more precisely at the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.

Arthur had already been dating Molly Prewett for a long while, and they had been planning on getting married. However, both of them came from empoverished families that wouldn't be able to help them financially, and certainly Molly's salary (she worked as a cook at a fashionable restaurant) wouldn't be enough. In shorter words, they needed the money Arthur's promotion meant.

But there had been other reasons. He was already aware that he'd never get far at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, or at least not as far as he wanted. Because Arthur Weasley was ambitious, although many years later no one would believe it. He didn't just want to earn money so Molly and him (and the children they planned to have) could have a comfortable life. He also wanted to change certain laws regarding muggles, which were much worse than now. Actually, deep down, Arthur Weasley dreamed with being a part of History books as the man who had reduced the breach between the Wizarding and the Muggle world. It was foolish and far-fetched, but he was young, and naïve, and when you're young, you believe you can do anything. When you grow older, though, you get a more accurate perspective of your own limits.

Back then, though, he still was naïve enough to think he'd be able to change thing on his own, and he knew that he'd have few chances of accomplishing it if he kept working where he was. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, on the other hand, had more influence, and if he became Head of that Committee his ideas would be taken more seriously. So, when the time came, he didn't hesitate to take the job offer.

At first everything was great. The salary was better, his boss was about to retire so there was a strong possibility he'd be promoted, and he could work very close to muggles, who fascinated him. But soon things began to get out of hand.

First of all, he was now working so hard that he barely saw any of his friends or family, including Molly, and he was becoming more and more isolated. But that was just the most insignificant of his problems.

After a few months, he noticed that not only his coworkers and superiors didn't share his opinions on muggles (most of them considered non-magical people a pain in the butt) ­­­­­­­but also abused them anytime they could. With the excuse of erasing their memories, both his committee and the Obliviators took advantage of the unknowing muggles, either to steal money from them or merely to play pranks on them. And there were rumours of what some wizards had done to muggle girls, rumours that Arthur did not want to believe.

Even without paying attention to the most hideous rumours, he witnessed everyday enough things to make him mad. Abusing from their power over the muggle population was an everyday thing at the office. It seemed like the muggles existed only to provide entertainment or easy money to the Ministry employees.

At first, he was both shocked and horrified. He went to talk with his boss, who merely shrugged.

'You'll get used to this soon, boy. After all, muggles aren't like you and me; they don't feel things in the same way we do. And it's not like they remember anything, is it? What you can't see doesn't harm you.'

And then he implied that, if Arthur kept working as hard as he did now and kept his mouth shut, he could get a promotion...but if he talked, well, then he might find himself in trouble.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't lose his job, and the promotion would be great. After some thinking, he convinced himself that there wasn't much he could do for the muggles anyway. He'd only get himself fired. On the other hand, if he played his cards well now, he'd soon get his boss' job. And then he'd be able to change things. In the meanwhile...well, he'd just have to keep his mouth shut and ignore what happened around him.

Even though that might mean that his friends and family no longer wanted to speak to him. They just didn't understand, but they would see. Oh, yes, they would see the error of their ways.

In the meanwhile, he was left pretty much alone.

* * *

'In the end, it was your mother who talked some sense into me. She gave me an ultimatum: if I didn't change my attitude, then she'd leave me.'

Percy was painfully reminded of Penelope. She had never given him an ultimatum. One day, she'd just taken the few things she had at his flat and disappeared. After two weeks, during which he hadn't heard a word from her, he'd gone to see her. And then she'd told him everything was over. That it hurt her too much to be with him. He hadn't a clue of what was going on. Penelope had never given him a warning. Or at least enough warning for his dumbness.

But, of course, his mother couldn't have been the type of girl that'd leave quietly. Oh no: surely Molly Prewett had made quite a scandal. Depressed, Percy thought that he would have preferred a scandal to the silent way Penelope had dumped him.

'What happened next is pretty obvious. Your mother made me realise a couple of things. First, that in spite of what old Wilkes said, muggles were people, not animals, just like you and me. And it wasn't right to treat them the way they did. Secondly...well, secondly I realised that I cared more about my family's and my friends' respect than anybody else's. And thirdly... I just didn't want to lose her. She's always meant the world to me.'

Percy was shocked beyond words. He'd never, in his whole life, imagined his father doing something like that. He'd never imagined his father doing something because of his _ambition_. If it was a known fact that Arthur Weasley had no ambition! Now, though, Percy realised that he'd been wrong about his father, just as he'd been wrong about many other stuff as well.

'Why didn't you tell me this?'

If he'd just known... If he'd heard what had happened to his father, would Fudge have tricked him so easily? Would things have been different? Or would he have screwed up just the same?

His father sighed, and suddenly he looked years older.

'I felt ashamed. I still do. I didn't want my children to know how stupid I had been. But I guess...I guess that the reason I never told any of you this was because I thought it was the kind of things a person has to learn on her own'.

'And what kind of thing would that be?'

His father pondered the answer for a moment, his gaze lost somewhere else. Then he locked his eyes with Percy's.

'That there's only one thing you can't trade for what your heart desires...and that thing is your own heart' His father hesitated, then he put a hand on Percy's shoulder. 'Son, you made a mistake, exactly like I did so many years ago.. But you have also grown up since then. I know you've changed for the better. I knew it when I saw you at your new job. I know it now I talk to you. And other people will see it too. Just...just give them some time'.

A long silence followed this words. Percy dwelled in the story his father had told him, and once again he wondered whether it would have helped him to know about it last year. He wondered whether it would have changed things. Probably not.

He also thought about his siblings and all the other people he'd hurt last year. Was his father right? Would they forgive him? Percy wanted to believe it, but he just wasn't sure.

But he'd believed his father would never talk to him again, and now here he was. His hand was on Percy's shoulder, just like when he'd been little, and in his eyes there was understanding, and forgiveness, and the faintest hint of something Percy had seen many times, but now didn't dare to believe it was true.

_Pride_.

It also came to his mind that this was the first time he really felt that his father treated him like an adult. This was the first time he felt that his father showed the same trust (or perhaps even more) he did with Bill or Charlie. For some reason, that thought, together with the warmness of his father's eyes and the weight of his hand on Percy's shoulder, conforted him more than all words in the world.

'You know what's really been bugging me since I came here?'

Percy, pulled out of his reverie, looked up to his father, intrigued.

'What?'

Arthur Weasley smiled, and suddenly he didn't look that old. He turned to point at the TV set Andrew had recently got.

'How's _that_ supposed to work?'

And then, without thinking, without hesitating, they both burst into laughter.

* * *

Monday was quite an uneventful day. At the end of it, Percy was at Wesley's office, talking about a vampire nest. Soon the subject was worn out and they both fell silent for a while, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. Finally, Percy spoke up, but did it in a whisper, as if he was more talking to himself than anything else.

'You never get to fully know them, do you?' He added: 'You think you know them, because you've seen them your whole life... And then, one day, you realise you don't know them at all. One moment you think they're predictable. The next, you're facing complete strangers'.

Percy's words lingered in the air for a few seconds before Wesley reacted.

'Them who?' He asked. This time it was his turn to feel clueless.

With an absent look in his eyes, Percy said:

'Family. I mean... Do you ever see them for what they really are? Or do you just see layers and masks?'

Wesley mused on his mother's deceiving attitude, on the secrets his father's study hid, on the many things he'd always ignored about his parents.

'It's possible. There's confort, though'. Percy looked up. 'In a few years time, it'll be your children who won't understand you at all'.

Percy let out a chuckle. 'That doesn't make me feel much better'.

They both fell silent again, dwelling in family's secrets and unspoken feelings, in untold stories and silent lies.

Wesley didn't have real answers for Percy's questions, that were his own. He didn't know if anybody else did.

And he wasn't sure whether he really wanted to know.

_'But I will not sleep in this bed of lies  
So toss me out and turn in  
And there'll be no rest for these tired eyes  
I'm marking it down to learning  
I'm marking it down to learning  
'Cause I am'_

**_'Bed of Lies'_**_, by Matchbox 20.

* * *

_

**Author's Note: **I've really enjoyed writing this series so far, and I've been delighted at reviews I've got. However, I'm afraid that from now on it'll take me much longer to update. I've started school again, and I find that it kinda of sucks my creativity. Besides, there is other fanfiction I'm working in right now.

However, that doesn't mean that you won't see another installment of Percy's series. I still got plenty of ideas to continue it. As soon as I do, I'll let all of you know. In the meanwhile, see you later!


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